


The Church

by DroughtofApathy



Series: A Thousand Lifetimes [19]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Violence, F/F, Men are terrible, Purposefully vague cultlike church, Realistic healing period, References to Period Shaming, Women helping Women, Women of color being so done with white people's shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 08:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DroughtofApathy/pseuds/DroughtofApathy
Summary: The last time Zinnia had seen Azelea had been over ten years ago when Azelea had broken her heart. She never expected to see her ex-girlfriend again, and certainly not standing behind her husband, clearly a cult leader if Zinnia had ever seen one, with two children attached to her hips, and wearing clothes that looked like they came from some cheap Little House on the Prairie knockoff. Worst of all, Zinnia never expected Azalea to be...a brunette.





	The Church

The three women the line of cars suspiciously. Rumor around town was that the old church on Cardinal Drive managed to find itself a new congregation from down south. The shortest woman cracked her neck, narrowing her eyes. She knew this town could be as backwards as any place after the Mason-Dixon line, but a literal cult surprised even her. She narrowed her eyes even further, watching as the men pried off the boards around the windows.

“We are too gay and too not-white for this,” she muttered, irritably turning away. The other two women nodded in agreement. The darkest of the three sighed heavily, knowing she’d be the most unfortunate of the three with the new cult in town. Black women always did get the short end of the stick.

The other woman, a Latina, rolled her eyes heavily. All these new citizens of their town threatened to upend her entire career. As mayor of the town, her place was tenuous at best. The democratic Latina oversaw their small population town, and with forty new citizens, it didn’t look good for her. And it was her duty to go over to greet the newcomers. Wonderful. She glanced at herself in the mirror, wondering if it helped that she looked more Italian than Hispanic, and could pass as long as no one looked too closely. She really didn’t want to have to resort to that.

“Karianne,” the small Asian woman said, addressing the Latina. “Should Traci and I go over there to greet our new neighbors? Or do you want us to steer clear for as long as we possibly can?” Karianne shook her head, choosing the second option. These people were from down south. She didn’t want any unnecessary targets on their backs if they could avoid it. But even as she said it, she knew Traci and Zinnia wouldn’t be able to resist taunting the bigots a bit.

“They might be perfectly lovely people,” Karianne said, knowing how farfetched that truly was. Forty people didn’t just up and move to a new town for the sake of a church unless something shady was up. Traci scoffed. Sure, they were nice people and she owned the fucking Hope Diamond.

Karianne left with a parting warning for the two women not to be overly abrasive. She really didn’t want to have to attend anyone’s funeral. And knowing Zinnia and Traci like she did, the possibility rose every moment the two women plotted and schemed. They’d been even worse in high school, honestly.

Zinnia and Traci managed to wait an entire month before crossing paths with anyone from the church. And dear gods, when they did, an entire month’s worth of tension exploded. The two women had just stepped out of the coffee shop across the street from the church when the pastor or preacher or whatever he was called, released the congregation. The churchgoers all milled around outside, chatting amicably when the preacher – because he was in fact a preacher – spotted them across the street.

Both women tensed. In her leather jacket, Dutch braid, and heeled combat boots, Zinnia very much looked like a biker dyke. Traci, being black and scantily clad as she usually was with her cartilage piercing, certainly didn’t meet their approval either. A few congregants made the sign of the cross at them, which struck Zinnia as odd because she’d been under the impression that this was a Protestant denomination. Still, she geared up, ready for a fight.

They crossed the street. Not because they wanted to, but because they had to in order to get to Zinnia’s motorcycle.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Zinnia said, though her body language said the exact opposite. “Look, you don’t step on our toes, we don’t bother you. Easy. Now, may we please pass?” The preacher narrowed his eyes at her.

“My children,” he boomed, throwing his arms wide. “Before you stands the work of the devil. These demons will try to tempt you to the dark side, but do not let them. Resist against the devil’s temptations. Resist!”

Zinnia and Traci exchanged exasperated looks. As much as they loved being called devils, they really didn’t have the time for this. Karianne expected them for Sunday brunch and sent Traci out to pick up the butter. Rolling her eyes, Traci grabbed Zinnia’s arm and tried to push past. A few of the more burly members of the church closed in, effectively surrounding them.

“We’re not on your church lands,” Zinnia said calmly. “Let us pass, sir.” She narrowed her eyes, glaring up at the tall preacher. Then, unwittingly, her eyes slid to the woman just behind the preacher who looked to be his wife. She cradled a small child in her arms, with another one attached to her leg. And it had been over ten years, but she’d have recognized Azalea Finch anywhere. She inhaled sharply. The woman’s eyes widened in a panic and she quickly looked away.

Traci saw her too. But they had bigger issues to deal with at the moment. Like the large men currently glaring down at them and the preacher who hadn’t shut up with his fire and brimstone speech. Figuring it couldn’t get any worse, and maybe a tad vengeful about Azalea, Traci rolled her eyes before pulling Zinnia in for a kiss.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, and instantly the cult members took several steps back. Seizing the opportunity, the two women quickly made their escape back to Zinnia’s motorcycle. Zinnia revved the motor, and drove off without saying another word.

Karianne knew instantly something was up. When her wife and her best friend came home looking that shook up, with their lipstick smeared and mixed together, she knew something happened.

“Church,” Traci said, by way of explanation. She handed Zinnia a tissue, letting Karianne wipe at her own lips. Karianne clicked her tongue in vexation. She honestly should have been prouder that they’d made it this long. She turned to Zinnia who stared out the window lost in thought. Karianne raised an eyebrow at her wife, waiting for an elaboration.

“The preacher’s wife. Did you know?” Zinnia demanded, suddenly. Karianne knit her brow together, shaking her head. “It’s Azalea. For fuck’s sake, what did he do to her? She’s…she just looks so…empty. I mean, she’s _brunette_ for fuck’s sake. And she’s wearing such drab colors. She’s not Azalea.”

Karianne rubbed Zinnia’s shoulder blade comfortingly. She tried not to take it personally when Zinnia brushed her off harshly. Remembering vividly what happened in high school and how Azalea Finch had broken Zinnia’s teenaged heart, Karianne and Traci let her be.

The universe had it out for her, Zinnia decided. All she wanted to do that day was finish her weekly shopping in peace and not think about seeing Azalea Finch earlier in the week. But no, of course not. She just had to spot a kid tearing down the aisle, and as much as she hated children, the sounds of a frantic mother made her dart out an arm and snatch up the kid. Only after she managed to get a good grip on the child did she realize it was the same kid wrapped around Azalea’s leg from before.

“Joshua!” Azalea Finch, now Azalea Smith, gasped, panting slightly. She pushed a heavy cart with another child in the front seat. “Thank you so much for catching- Zinnia.” Awkwardly, Zinnia handed over the little boy, hoping against hope that they could just leave each other be.

“I’m sorry, Zinnia,” Azalea said quietly, her eyes darting about nervously. Zinnia winced. Because of course they couldn’t put it off any longer. “Truly I am. I just…I’m not-” she couldn’t even say it, Zinnia realized. And in spite of herself, her heart went out to the other woman. She’d been so vibrant. So ambitious.

“Your hair,” Zinnia said, because of course that was all she could come up with. Azalea blushed, picking up her son with only a hint of strain.

“Red is a sinful color,” she said like she’d been reciting that for the past ten years. Zinnia nodded, but Azalea knew from her eyes that she heavily disagreed. Azalea winced. For the first time in ten years, she felt ashamed to be seen. Maybe it was because she only ever saw members of the congregation who all adhered to the same fashion choices, and mentality. Maybe seeing a woman who’d known her in a past life made her hyperaware of how she looked like she belonged in a prairie movie. She couldn’t meet Zinnia’s eyes, knowing she’d be met with sad disappointment.

“Zale,” Zinnia began, before thinking better of it. “Never mind. It’s good to see you. And as for what happened, it’s in the past. It’s fine. Really. And you don’t have to worry. I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t ever bring it up in front of anyone you know. You’re safe.” She pretended it didn’t bother her how relieved Azalea looked after she said that. Pretended it didn’t bother her that Azalea genuinely thought she’d have outted her to _those_ people.

Sensing they’d finished their conversation, Zinnia turned back to the shelf, glowering to herself as she gazed up at the top shelf. Azalea reached up, easily grabbing the box of cereal for her. Murmuring a soft thanks, Zinnia gave one last awkward wave to the children before turning to leave.

“Azalea,” she called suddenly, startling the other woman. “Are…are you happy?” Azalea didn’t answer her, though her mouth opened slightly. Then, flushing hotly, she spun the cart around and hurried away. Sighing, Zinnia turned away, mentally slapping herself for even asking that.

They kept running into each other, and each time Azalea visibly tensed as her eyes darted around. Zinnia came to know the routine well. If anyone Azalea knew happened to be around, she’d dart off, keeping her head down. But if they appeared to be alone, she’d give Zinnia a tight smile, and they’d talk. Never for more than a few moments. But Zinnia came to treasure these stolen minutes.

She learned the little girl’s name was Ruth, and that they were homeschooled by Azalea herself. And Zinnia had to quirk her lips up at that. Azalea always had been the brilliant one. She just hoped Azalea retained some of that intelligence after all of this.

She learned Azalea married her husband, Hiram, shortly after graduating college. Her mother set them up on a date – and at that, Zinnia internally cringed – and they’d been in love ever since. Somehow, when Azalea said that, Zinnia didn’t believe it. Perhaps the way Azalea’s smile didn’t quite meet her eyes gave it away. Perhaps it was the way she jumped at every little noise.

Traci and Karianne caught on fairly quickly. Though Zinnia didn’t dare tell them in case it got out to Azalea’s congregation, they knew their best friend too well. And though neither woman approved – the past notwithstanding – because of the damn church, they kept their mouths shut. As an adult, Zinnia could make her own decisions. Even if those decisions remained stupidly risky.

Something changed. Zinnia knew the instant she sat down at the library. Azalea only flinched rather than a full body jump. Progress. Zinnia smiled, waving to the two kids. She’d gotten strangely fond of them over the past few weeks. Even Azalea caught on. The thought that a woman who hated all children would take to hers warmed Azalea more than she let on.

Despite not jumping out of her skin, Azalea looked more haggard than usual. And that said something. Zinnia rarely ever asked direct questions, not wanting to spook Azalea any more than she already was. But today, she felt like she could finally get away with one.

“Something wrong?” Zinnia asked, pretending to be engrossed in her book. Azalea didn’t respond for the longest time, instead watching as Joshua did his best to read a chapter book to his little sister.

“The…the other women of my church,” Azalea began, slowly. “They want me to be more…as the preacher’s wife, I have certain stances to take up. I’ve tried…I’ve tried to divert them by saying politics is not a woman’s place.” And at that, Zinnia saw the faint twitch of Azalea’s eye. She kept her own face neutral, but inside she wanted nothing more than to take Azalea far, far, away. Somewhere inside, the real Azalea lay dormant. “But…they want me to…to speak against things like abortion and marriage between…”

She still couldn’t say it. Zinnia looked up at her sadly. Azalea blushed, turning her attention back to her children. They sat in silence for what felt like hours. Suddenly, Azalea’s eyes widened. She clutched the arms of her chair in a panic. Zinnia reached out a hand, anxiously. She hovered over the other woman’s arm, wondering if she should call for help. But then she saw Azalea’s eyes dart from her bag to the bathroom to her children. And she understood.

“I’ll watch them,” Zinnia said. “Go.” With trepidation written all over her face, Azalea quickly darted into the bathroom. Zinnia sighed, turning her attention to the children. They started at her, unblinking. It unnerved her more than she cared to admit.

Sighing, she got up to go to them. Joshua held out his book to her, requesting that she read a bit. He’d grown tired. Zinnia never thought she’d see the day when she’d willingly sit down on a – probably – filthy rug to read a bible story to children. She hoped Traci never found out.

Halfway through the story, she felt a pair of eyes watching her and quickly looked up. Azalea stood at the edge of the rug torn between affection and horror. She fidgeted, looking pained. Zinnia closed the book, standing. Noticing the way Azalea backed up slightly, Zinnia kept the children next to her.

“Their father is going to come pick them up,” Azalea said quietly. “I’ve- I’ve started my monthly. Please, please you can’t be here.” Zinnia nodded, quickly gathering her things. She knew this routine all too well. Disappearing off behind the bookshelves, she made sure she still had a relatively unobstructed view. She watched as Hiram Smith stormed into the library, looking livid.

Ordering his children into the car, he turned his attentions to his wife. Azalea curled in on herself, softly pleading with her husband to calm down. He glared at her, but kept his distance.

“Did you touch them?” he demanded, keeping his voice low in the public space. Frantically, Azalea shook her head. She knew the rules, she said. She knew she could not contaminate the children with her uncleanliness. Hiram sneered at her, as though he didn’t believe what she said. Finally, he turned to leave. “I trust you have your plan.” He didn’t wait for a confirmation, leaving his wife looking near tears.

Zinnia waited until she knew for certain that the preacher left before coming out of her hiding spot. She stood uncertainly next to Azalea but didn’t try to touch her. Finally, Azalea managed to pull herself together enough to gather her things.

“Zale,” Zinnia said, reaching out. Azalea flinched away. “Do you…do you need somewhere to stay? I mean, until you…” Azalea shook her head, searching inside of her purse for her wallet. Her face fell as she peered inside. Not enough. Not nearly enough for a week. She turned back to Zinnia helplessly. Zinnia sighed, motioning for Azalea to follow her. Anxiously, Azalea glanced around again.

“Here,” Zinnia said, scribbling her address on a scrap of paper. “Make your way here. You can stay with me. It’s okay. Please, Azalea.” She waited until Azalea nodded before taking her leave. Not liking the idea of Azalea walking alone to her little house, Zinnia nevertheless knew they had few options. She didn’t have a car, and couldn’t be seen taking Azalea for a ride anyway. And Azalea couldn’t drive. Or rather, her husband didn’t let her.

As Zinnia stopped at the store to pick up some food for them both, she seethed. Though she didn’t have all the details, she got the gist of everything. Because Azalea was on her period, he and his entire damn congregation considered her unclean. She angrily snatched a chocolate bar from the shelf, cursing Hiram Smith with everything she had. Menstruating women being forced out of their own fucking houses. By the time she got home, Zinnia had worked herself up into a fury.

She slammed the cabinets as she started cooking dinner for two. Knowing she needed to get her anger out of her system before Azalea showed up, Zinnia took several deep breaths and counted to thirteen.

Nearly an hour later, she heard a tentative knocking on her door. Making sure not to look livid – a difficult feat for someone with resting bitch face – Zinnia quickly ushered her inside. Azalea clutched a worn travel bag to her midsection, and looked exhausted.

“Eat,” Zinnia ordered, placing a small plate of salmon and a side salad in front of her. Azalea looked like she wanted to argue, but instead nodded. After getting permission, Zinnia took Azalea’s bag into the bedroom. She didn’t mind taking the couch for a week or so. Returning to the kitchen, Zinnia placed a glass of water in front of the skittish woman and sat down. She offered to get Azalea some ibuprofen, but Azalea immediately declined.

 “Medication invites the devil into the body,” Azalea said quietly. She glanced up, expecting Zinnia to argue. But Zinnia didn’t respond. She knew the last thing Azalea needed was a lecture.

Zinnia woke to the sound of the sink running. Unused to any noise in her house, it jolted her awake. Bleary eyed, Zinnia fumbled for her glasses, shoving them up the bridge of her nose. She stood in the doorway, watching as Azalea scrubbed at something in the sink. Azalea jumped, dropping the cloth.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, lowering her eyes. Zinnia shook her head, walking closer. Azalea flinched, trying to shield the sink from her view. But Zinnia saw the bloodied cloth and put two and two together. Reluctantly, Azalea explained that tampons were sinful, and Hiram wouldn’t pay for pads when she could make do with cloths.

“Here,” Zinnia said, handing her a box of pads from one of the shopping bags on the counter. “He won’t know.” Azalea’s eyes darted around, as though she believed her husband would pop out from underneath the table to catch her red handed. She took the box. Hesitantly, she asked if she might use the shower. Zinnia nodded, saying that as long as Azalea stayed here, she could do as she pleased. No rules. No restrictions. But even as she said it, both women knew Azalea would never take advantage of this temporary freedom.

Azalea emerged from the bathroom barely ten minutes later. She’d redonned her long nightdress and braided back her wet hair.

“I know you don’t think very highly of our way of life,” Azalea whispered, wrapping her arms around her stomach. Zinnia pressed a heating pad to her abdomen without comment. “It’s- it’s strange to you, I know. But, Hiram is a good…he is a good father. And a good leader. I just…nothing.”

“Azalea,” Zinnia tried, reaching out to the other woman. But no amount of coaxing would make Azalea elaborate. So instead, regretting every moment of it, Zinnia stole away to bed.

For three days, Zinnia left for work, and Azalea hid away in the house. Zinnia usually kept the blinds and curtains tightly drawn, allowing Azalea to wander freely. The first day she felt too horrible to move, and could barely stomach the light meal Zinnia left in the fridge for her. Once she felt better, Azalea waged an internal war with herself as she stared at Zinnia’s impressive book collection. It had been so long since she’d done any reading that didn’t include the bible. But no one was there to see her. No one could stop her.

That was how Zinnia found her. Curled up in an armchair with a small pile of books on the table next to her, Azalea feverishly consumed every word. Zinnia smiled, turning to the stove to start dinner.

On the fifth day, Zinnia came home to Azalea frantically rinsing out her nightgown. She stood at the sink in just her underthings, and nearly bolted when she heard the door open. Zinnia turned respectfully away, but not before she took in the state of Azalea’s clothes. The elastic was all but gone in her ratty bra, and her underwear hung off her hips. She’s seen the scars across her stomach. Not all of them were from child bearing. Neither were the faded bruises along her torso and limbs.

“It’s nothing,” Azalea insisted fearfully. She saw the way Zinnia tensed. Could practically feel the way her rage rolled off of her. Unable to take it anymore, Zinnia whirled around. Instinctively, Azalea raised her arms in front of her face, bracing herself. That stopped Zinnia cold.

“Oh, Zale,” she breathed, her anger turning into sadness. “Darling, it’s me. I won’t hurt you. Please, Azalea. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Slowly, Azalea lowered her arms, still trembling. Taking one look at Zinnia’s face, Azalea broke down sobbing. She threw herself into Zinnia’s arms, shaking violently.

With only some minor difficulty, Zinnia managed to maneuver the taller woman to the couch. She wrapped a blanket over her bare shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into her back. Azalea tried to speak, but could barely manage a few words between heaving breaths. Zinnia shushed her, petting her hair and sorely missing the dark red waves.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Azalea finally managed to choke out. Zinnia waited, not saying a word. “I can’t…when I see you I can’t…it’s wrong. It’s not right. I can’t. I can’t have these feelings. Oh, no. I can’t be… _that_.”

Zinnia sniffed, remembering a similar conversation all too well. But this, this cut far deeper than before. She’d been in that man’s house for close to a decade, Zinnia thought. Gently, she placed a soft kiss on Azalea’s forehead, succeeding in only making the woman sob harder. Zinnia winced, unsure what she could do to calm the other woman.

“Zinnia,” Azalea said, sniffling. “I don’t know what to do. I tried. Oh, I tried for so long not to have these thoughts. I prayed every night for Him to take them away, but they’re not gone! Oh, Zinnia. You were right. I am…I’m what you said I am.” She looked pleadingly at Zinnia as though Zinnia could somehow magically absorb all of her lesbian feelings. Zinnia almost wished she could. Anything to ease Azalea’s sufferings. But they both knew that would never work.

Azalea inhaled sharply, trying desperately to regain her composure. After ten years of being forced to hide her tears after…well, Azalea became an expert at choking down her cries along with things she couldn’t bear to think about.

Slowly opening her eyes, Azalea found herself inches away from the woman who’d plagued her thoughts and dreams for longer than anyone else besides her children. Unbidden, her gaze traveled down to Zinnia’s soft, full lips. And something inside of her gave. Still trembling, she traced those beautiful lips with her thumb. Zinnia smiled, but did not move, not wanting to spook the other woman. And when they kissed, Azalea finally felt like everything could be okay.

For three months they kept their affair a secret. Resigning themselves to stolen moments and secret glances, the two women loved in the shadows. Passing minutes in the grocery store, and a short story time in the library. Terrified of being discovered, Azalea only allowed herself that. Unable to sneak away, and unable to go anywhere alone, she contented herself with memories of those little minutes. And besides, she had Zinnia’s words.

Months of letters all piled up. The two women slipped them into any place they could. Books at the library, shelves of the grocery store. Even hidden behind gravestones in the cemetery. All places Azalea could reach. And though Azalea longed to keep and treasure every piece of paper Zinnia wrote on, she couldn’t. She couldn’t risk it. So, Zinnia kept them wrapped up in a bit of twine for her.

And once a month, when Azalea found herself banished from her own house, she slipped away from her bed of thorns to a bed of roses. But years of fire and brimstone kept the still-deeply fractured woman from going further than a few kisses and a whole lot of cuddling. And Zinnia didn’t mind. Baby steps. And perhaps they’d never quite get there again. She didn’t care one way or the other. Zinnia just wanted Azalea to be happy, and she’d take anything the taller woman offered.

Hiram didn’t seem to mind her barely concealed good moods. With thoughts of Zinnia, Azalea could suffer through her marital bed. She could grit her teeth as her husband preached about the evils of the world. She could dutifully apply the dye to her reddening roots, and keep the house sparkling, and stare unflinchingly as the congregation damned the homosexuals to hell.

She had her children, and she had Zinnia. And she had her place in the gospel choir. Her husband couldn’t take that from her. On Sunday morning she sang to a god she still had mixed feelings about. Zinnia knew because sometimes she crept up to the old building and just listened. Just listened to the deep, most beautiful, voice she’d ever heard.

Three blissful months. And then, the other shoe dropped.

Zinnia had just settled into a steaming hot bath when she heard the insistent pounding on her front door. Tempted to answer the door as she was, Zinnia grudgingly wrapped herself in a towel before yanking open the front door.

“Please,” Azalea gasped, clutching both of her children to her. Zinnia didn’t ask questions. Instead she immediately ushered the three-shaking people into her home, locking the door behind them. Taking in Azalea’s pained breathing and the many forming bruises across her face and neck, as well as a reddening handprint across Joshua’s cheek, Zinnia decided she’d definitely have to kill that man.

“He hit _my son_ ,” Azalea rasped out, rage and pain flowing off her body in waves. “And Zinnia. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, but he _knows_.” Zinnia gasped, eyes wide. Then, she nodded, grabbing her phone.

“Right. If he knows, we’re not safe here. Come on, everyone, we’re going to Miss. Karianne and Miss. Traci’s house. We’re going to be okay,” Zinnia said, already rummaging in her drawers for something to put on.

Little Ruth kept her face buried in her mother’s chest. As much agony as Azalea was in, she couldn’t bear letting go. Not even for a moment.

Neither Karianne nor Traci said a word as they let them inside, but they did exchange worried looks. They hadn’t crossed paths with Azalea Smith since she’d moved into town, but taking in the battered woman huddling with her children in their kitchen barely resembled the young woman they once knew.

“Should we take the children into the guest room to give you some time?” Karianne asked softly. Azalea tensed, shaking her head immediately. She didn’t want her children out of her sight. But Zinnia shook her head. She could see exhaustion and fear written off the kids’ faces. They needed to sleep. Eventually Azalea allowed herself and her children to be lead to the bedroom. Zinnia pressed soft kisses to each of their foreheads, saying she’d be back soon. Azalea caught her wrist, squeezing slightly.

Zinnia returned a short time later with a bag of supplies. Grateful that Karianne stocked a mini clinic in her home, she spilled the contents across the dresser. Azalea barely responded. She sat at the foot of the bed, cradling herself as she stared at her children who lay fast asleep.

“Azalea,” Zinnia said. “Come on, I need to make sure you’re okay. Please. Let me help you.” Reluctantly, Azalea slid off the bed, wincing. Blushing hotly, she managed to take off her dress with Zinnia’s help. Zinnia sucked in her breath, taking in the extent of Azalea’s injuries that the clumsily applied makeshift bandages did little to hide. She removed the slightly bloodied rags, before hesitating at Azalea’s bra clasp. She knew the injuries traveled underneath the worn piece of cloth. Azalea nodded, averting her eyes. She barely protested as Zinnia began taking pictures with her phone.

At first, Zinnia gently rubbed in a bruise cream into Azalea’s skin, avoiding her cuts for the moment. Azalea cried out sharply as Zinnia touched her ribcage. Zinnia knew, from countless nights of reading random Wikipedia pages, that wrapping Azalea’s ribs would be more harmful than helpful. The most she could do was try to get Azalea to take some painkillers and ice it.

Having noticed the way Azalea cradled her left wrist, she brought out a roll of ace bandages. Looking swollen and bruised, Zinnia wagered it was probably fractured or even broken. When Azalea tried to move it per Zinnia’s instructions, she could barely contain her cry of pain.

A knock at the door made her jump. The sharp movement caused a bolt of pain to shoot through Azalea’s ribs, and this time she couldn’t muffle her whimper. Zinnia, glancing at Azalea’s state of undress, poked her head out the door. Karianne offered up a tray of food and water.

“Zin,” she said.

“I know. I know. Just-just let them rest for tonight.”

She retreated back into the room, carrying the tray. Azalea hadn’t moved. Pressing a glass of water into her uninjured hand, Zinnia rummaged in the drawers to find Azalea something of Traci’s to wear.

At long last, Azalea and Zinnia settled on the foot of the bed. Azalea stroked Joshua’s leg, tears gathering in her eyes.

“The moment Hiram got home I knew,” Azalea said quietly. “I knew something was wrong or that he was angry. But, I never thought he’d found out. But, um, he-he came into the kitchen, and he looked so angry. I knew I must have done something, and I always try not to let the children see when he decides…when he beats me.

He told me that one of the church women saw me with you at…at the library. She saw us together. She saw you and I brush hands, and you interact with the children, and she told him. I tried. I tried to tell him that there’d been a misunderstanding, but he didn’t believe me and-

I’m used to being hit. I can take it. I’m used to it. But, but then everything went wrong. Joshua heard, and he ran out. Zinnia, he tried to protect me, and Hiram struck him. And it’s all my fault. He should never- he should never have ever been in that room. It’s my fault.”

Zinnia placed a soft kiss on Azalea’s shoulder, murmuring that nothing in this situation was her fault.

“No, it is,” Azalea insisted. “I don’t ever fight back. Ever. I mean, in the beginning I resisted. But- but he _trained_ me to be this.” Azalea practically spat out the words, disgust etched across her bruised face. “But when he hit my son, I saw red. And- and I shoved him harder than I thought possible. He didn’t like that. He’s never- he’s never touched my face before because it left marks. But I pushed him over the edge, and he just kept hitting me and hitting me. It hurt so much, Zinnia. And he called me such awful things. But I was terrified he would turn on Joshua again, so I begged and pleaded and he finally left.

Oh, god. Joshua saw everything. He had to see his father beat his mother and call her a whore and a slut and a disgusting lesbian. That’s not right. That’s not okay!”

Azalea clutched at her chest, trying not to breathe too heavily. All that talking had re-split her lip, and she licked away the blood before it could stain anything. Zinnia, teary-eyed, longed to gather Azalea up into her arms, but knew she’d only cause the woman more pain. Instead, she settled for pressing a kiss to the uninjured side of Azalea’s forehead.

After a long, long time, Azalea shifted slightly. Declaring that she never wanted to set foot in that house again, she clenched her fists in anger. Zinnia privately fantasized about burning down the fucking building with Hiram Smith trapped inside, but she didn’t say anything except a reassurance that she didn’t have to ever again.

“I promise you that he will never hurt you or the children again,” Zinnia vowed. Even if she had to stay up every single night at their bedsides with a shotgun, she’d make sure of it. Azalea smiled slightly, but her heart wasn’t in it. The thought of Zinnia stepping in front of Hiram to defend her scared Azalea more than she thought possible. All she wanted was for her children to grow up safely.

What the others must have thought of her now, Azalea said ruefully. Once upon a time, she’d been someone with ambition. Someone who’d never have stood for being treated as a commodity. She wanted to be the first female president. She never thought she’d ever end up like this. She never wanted to be like this, and look at her now. Weak. Broken.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Zale,” said Zinnia. “You are the strongest person I know. You always have been. Just look at your children to know I’m right. You are a wonderful mother, Azalea. And I know it’s not the life path either of us envisioned when we were young, but just look at them, love. You’ve done so well, and I am so, so proud of you.”

“It was all worth it,” Azalea said fiercely. “It got me my children. It brought me my babies. And I wouldn’t change a thing. I have Joshua, and Ruth. And…and I have you.” She said that last part so hesitantly and quietly Zinnia thought she imagined it. She nodded all the same. She never believed she’d ever get a second chance with Azalea. She didn’t know if this constituted a second chance. It didn’t matter. Right now, they just needed to make sure Azalea and the children were safe.

Tomorrow, they knew they needed to head down to the sheriff’s office. But for tonight, the two women gingerly huddled together as they listened to the children’s steady breathing, just thankful they were okay.

The sun shone brightly that Sunday morning. The church was in full swing when the sheriff sauntered into the building. Hiram Smith stopped mid-sentence, sneering at the law official. He and the law had no love loss. Part of the reason the congregation moved here, honestly. His sneer turned into a smirk as his wife of ten years came into view, bruises and all. By her side stood that bitch who’d turned her. He seethed, seeing that woman hold his daughter.

Azalea stood tall, glaring out at the congregation that had sat silent for a decade as her own husband became the devil they all talked about. She watched as he stepped out from behind the pulpit, approaching them. Thought Zinnia saw Azalea try to keep from him the satisfaction of her flinching, she didn’t succeed. Zinnia squeezed her hand, holding Ruth just a bit tighter. The little girl buried her face in Zinnia’s hair. Though so very young, she knew enough to know that her father hurt her mother. And she didn’t like that at all.

They took him away in handcuffs, loudly raising his usual fire and brimstone talk as they went. Azalea watched him go, knowing it was far from over. They still had the legal battle, and the divorce to see through, and the children to think of. She wouldn’t delude herself into believing it was over. But it was a start.

Quietly, Zinnia asked her what she’d do now. What she’d do first. Azalea smiled tiredly at her. Then, she twirled a lock of her brown hair around her finger thoughtfully. Oh, how she missed her red, red hair. Zinnia grinned. It was a start.

 

THREE YEARS LATER:

Healing, as Zinnia and Azalea learned, took time. The ribs healed, and the bruises faded. But it was over a year before Azalea stopped waking up seized by fear in the dead of night. But there was no large and obtrusive body lying next to her. There was no one there.

She never did stop jumping at every little noise, or instinctively curling in on herself. And though she knew in her heart that Zinnia would never hurt her, she couldn’t help it. Zinnia did all she could to keep from ever raising her voice or losing her temper. She never clenched her jaw or curled her fists.

Zinnia helped Azalea move into a new house. Though both she and Azalea wouldn’t have minded living in Zinnia’s place together, they knew Azalea needed time. She needed to know she could be okay. And she couldn’t do that by jumping into anything just yet. The two women tried being friends first. God knows Azalea needed one of those after ten years of isolation.

Zinnia couldn’t fix Azalea. They knew this. Zinnia couldn’t simply slide into her life and magically heal a decade’s worth of abuse and conditioning. Zinnia couldn’t fix Azalea because Azalea didn’t need fixing. She just needed to heal. And she could do that herself with her children and Zinnia to hold her hand the entire way.

Now, three years had passed. Joshua was ten now, and Ruth had just turned six. Azalea and Zinnia began dating again just a few months ago. They still hadn’t been intimate with each other. Azalea didn’t know if she could ever get there again. And Zinnia made certain that Azalea knew that was okay.

On Sunday morning, Azalea stepped out of the coffee shop just across from the church. The churchgoers all milled around outside, chatting amicably when the preacher spotted her across the street. The congregation all glared daggers at her. For just a moment, Azalea faltered, gazing out into the small sea of hostile people.

She knew she certainly didn’t meet their approval. Her hair, back to its natural red, hung in large and bouncy curls around her shoulders. She wore leather pants, of all things, red lipstick, and red boots. Both expressly forbidden in her ex-church. Her red blouse cut across her collarbone, showing off her pale shoulders. Her jacket lay slung across her shoulders.

The door opened behind her and Joshua and Ruth came bounding out. She tore her gaze away from the church, and to her kids. Zinnia exited with Karianne and Traci in tow. Her smile faded as she saw the tension in Azalea’s face. Narrowing her eyes, she turned to the church. All activity seemed to have frozen the moment Azalea stepped outside. They all stared back, judgment stretched across their faces.

Zinnia took Azalea’s hand, squeezing. They all walked to Karianne and Traci’s car. Zinnia buckled Ruth in, smoothing down the little girl’s pigtails. Azalea made sure Joshua put his seatbelt on, kissing him on the forehead. Though the boy clearly wanted to brush his mother away, he didn’t.

“We’ll meet you back at the house,” Azalea said. She shut the door securely, chancing a look back at the church.

Zinnia stood by her motorbike, zipping up her jacket. She offered Azalea her helmet. Red. She owned so much red now. Because she could. Because no one would ever be able to tell her she couldn’t again.

Zinnia waited for Azalea to swing a long leg over the seat before kicking off. She revved the engine, smirking slightly. Once upon a time she might have tried antagonizing the church people. She might have done so many things guaranteed to ruffle some feathers. But she didn’t. She didn’t because she had Azalea to think about.

Three years, and Zinnia had changed so much too. Unsure if she’d ever be able to be a mother to those children, Zinnia did the best she could by being just herself. Herself with a pinch of caution, a dash of compassion, and the shadow of a maternal instinct she knew she’d never fully have.

Zinnia smiled, feeling Azalea tighten her grip around her waist. Together, they followed the car home. And neither looked back.

 


End file.
